


where my feet may fail

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Series: no man is an island [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Brother-Sister Relationships, Cousin Incest, Death, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Friendship/Love, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Political Alliances, Politics, Sibling Love, Twins, Vignette, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 21:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaehaera has known loss of many kinds. She is a woman, so she never forgets and doesn't forgive. But she lives, because that is all she can do.</p><p>A glimpse at the persons who have affected Jaehaera throughout her short life, starting from the family of her girlhood and ending with the family her husband gives her.</p><p>Vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i.

The most striking memory of her brother is filled with blood and screams. Jaehaera hasn't forgotten that image, not for a moment. If asked, she can tell the exact shade of violet her brother's eyes were when his head flew off his shoulders, and she can describe the look on his face down to the last line. It's such a strange thing that other, happier, memories fade and this one clings to her like the scent of death to the sick. Aye, the blood and the screams are part of a never ending nightmare which Jaehaera relieves almost every night. Hiding under the blanket no longer keeps the monsters away.

Despite that being the most striking of her memories where Jaehaerys is concerned, it is not the earliest, nor even the one she talks about most. Those are other instances. And their image is less clear in her mind, but Jaehaera can recall a time when Jaehaerys held her hand and led her in a trot over green pastures. She remembers a time when he pulled the ribbons from her hair because he didn't think green was a nice colour. And she can always bring to mind the image of him teasing her for stumbling over the hem of her dress and falling flat on her face.

However, no matter how many of these recollections she gathers to her chest it is still never enough. There is a constant hole in her heart, a gaping wound which she refuses to let close. Every time a light scab forms over the dripping sore, Jaehaera will pull at it with the iron nails of memory. The pain keeps her alive. The ache keeps her breathing.

"I miss you," she whispers to the pile of ash nestled in the silver urn.

Jaehaerys was more than a brother. Jaehaerys was half of her. The sword that pierced his skin, cut her too. Just because her wound cannot be seen with the naked eye, its existence is not less real and no less painful than her brother's hand been. Her brother is gone, ashes and dust.

There is no one left to protect her now. Jaehaerys isn't here to take her hand when she falls or to tease her about being clumsy. Jaehaerys will never again chase her down the corridors, pretending to be Balerion the Black Dread. They won't ever play knights and castles. And it hurts. The knowledge makes her weak in the knees and dizzy and faint.

"My Princess, it is time to go back," Septa Erayne tells her, pulling her away gently. "His Majesty won't like it that you sit here all day."

Jaehaera steels herself against the anguish parting with her brother always produces. She nods to the Septa and they walk back together. Unless it is Jaehaerys, Jaehaera avoids speaking to anybody. What use of there is uttering words they refuse to understand? Jaehaerys would have understood, they don't. All they ever do is stare at her with pity.

She doesn't need their pity. She doesn't want it.


	2. ii.

When they tell her that mother has thrown herself off of Maegor's Holdfast, Jaehaera's first thought is that they are lying. Her mother might not be sane, mad with grief and longing for her son, but she is still the Queen. She has two other children. Or she had two other children.

She never sees the body. They say she impales herself upon the spikes before she ever reached the ground. Some even talk that it was Rhaenyra who ordered her death and that the Queen had started to mend. Jaehaera doesn't believe them for a second. Her mother was too caught up in her own grief to see the pain of others.

There are nights in which Jaehaera dreams the Queen chooses her to die. It is her head that flies off her shoulders, the flesh ripping with a loud sound. It is her blood that wets the ground and it is her eyes that go glassy in shock and realisation. In her dreams, Jaehaera dies and her brothers live and mother does not mourn, because Jaehaera is a girl. Jaehaerys wraps her head in white cloth and Maelor, too young to know what is happening, weeps for fear of what he'd witnessed. But they all forget her in the end, after her small body is given to the flames, even Jaehaerys. In these nightmares even Jaehaera forgets herself too and she becomes the nothingness residing between two worlds, she becomes smoke and freedom, finally not tied to the prison of flesh and bone they'd taken from her.

But those are dreams. Mother did not choose Jaehaera. She chose Maelor, who was too young to understand. He is still too young to understand why mother won't hold him anymore, why she doesn't come out of her room, why she never will again. All that he can do is cry. Jaehaera wishes she could follow his example, but her tears refuse to come, so she settles for a frown.

Grandmother takes them both in her arms and offers soothing words. Jaehaera barely hears anything. All that she can see is the mangled remnants of her mother, as she imagines her to be that is. Grandmother tells them that mother is in a batter place. Jaehaera scowls. There is nothing after death. If there was, her brother would have found a way to tell her. Only blessed rest awaits them all after death.

Maybe it is better that she is gone; her words cannot hurt anyone any longer. Maybe Jaehaera's nightmares will stop now. Maybe she won't be chosen to die anymore. The weight on her shoulders, far from lifting, presses her harder. Or mayhap she won't ever escape death. Valar Morghulis. Every man must die, after all.

There is peace in death. Her mother must have seen that. She was tired, so very tired, all the time. Jaehaera thinks it is better to leave the dead to their rest. She won't ever forget her mother, but she doesn't need to live with this particular ghost constantly at her side, a reminder of both better and worse.


	3. iii.

Father kisses both her cheeks and pats her hair back in a gesture that to the eyes of the untrained might denote affection. Jaehaera knows better. Father doesn't love her. He didn't love Jaehaerys either, nor mother. King Aegon loves his crown and the Iron Throne, and that is all.

Did he ever feel anything for anyone other than himself? Jaehaera honestly doesn't know and her mind had stopped wandering in that direction a long time ago. What she has are facts. Her father let them cut off Jaehaerys' head. Her father left mother on her own and she flung herself off Maegor's Holdfast. The loving father left his own daughter adrift in a sea of fear.

Jaehaera hates him, with every fibre of her being. She detests the man sitting the throne and wearing the crown. She loathes the cripple presiding over the realm. But most of all she despises that men who left her on her own, scared and small and friendless. She needed him and he pushed her away. He still keeps her at arm's length. Jaehaera is Aegon's daughter in name and station, but not in heart. He may call himself her father, but she calls him her king.

Law dictates that she must obey, so Jaehaera swallows all her rage and locks herself away in her mind. There is a happy place waiting for her where memories of happier times surround her. She is happy there with the ghosts of the past. They take her in their arms when she is sad and they remind her that she is not nothing. They remind her that she is Jaehaera the sister of Jaehaerys and daughter of Helaena. They remind her that she had another brother, little Maelor who depends on her. Little Maelor who is now their father's heir.

"I have a gift for you, my Princess," Aegon tells her from his place on the cushioned chair. "I hope it is to your satisfaction."

A dress or a necklace or some doll with porcelain skin and rings of golden her so unlike her own silver tresses, these are the gifts her father thinks to bring. Jaehaera nods her head, wordlessly waiting for whatever it is he wants to present her with. As always her instincts are right. Jaehaera is unsure what the King wants to achieve with these trinkets. She is not impressed by jewellery or soft cloth. She wants her life back, she wants her brother and her mother and she wants to be able to laugh again without pain slicing through her at the thought that Jaehaerys won't ever see the amusing sight. She wants to embroider horrily and have her mother chiding her for not keeping the lines straight.

Princess Jaehaera is a mere pawn in her father's game. The girl Jaehaera is a scared little child hiding behind a curtain and watching life pass her by, hoping that someone will notice her and comfort her. Jaehaera of the Red Keep raises her chin and thanks the King for his gifts, an obeisance on the heel of the words.

She leaves, because she can't be here where he is.


	4. iv.

Death dogs her heels like a curse. Jaehaera watches her brother's tender flesh blacken and curl and crack and melt off his bones. She could yell at the Gods for the unfairness of it all. She would like to find the Father and pulls his sleeve, demanding to know why he judged it right to leave her brotherless and fatherless and motherless within the span of a few short years. She wants to know why the Mother doesn't show her mercy. Why is it that the Maiden left no one to look after Jaehaera Targaryen? Does the Smith expect her to forge a life without anyone who has ever mattered to her? Doesn't the Warrior have a strong arm to spare, one that might guard her? Does she not deserve one of the Crone's lamps to guide her way? Is the Stranger so in love with causing her pain?

"I am sorry for you loss," someone tells her, gently touching her shoulder. Jaehaera doesn't dare turn and face this person. She might burst into tears. "It isn't right. He too young."

Maelor was too young, Jaehaera agrees. But she squares her shoulders and tucks away the ache somewhere deep in her heart, a seed of wretchedness in fertile soil. "This too shall pass," she murmurs, more to comfort herself than anything else.

Her little brother is gone, along with everyone else. Somehow it fits. This tragedy is only one from a string of disasters, not wholly unexpected, but very much undesired. Why didn't the Seven take her if they wanted another soul? Or is she not good enough for them. Her lips tremble in dismay and her eyes stare angrily into the blue, blue sky. They even dared hang the sun up high. Are there to be no tears for her innocent brother? This only adds insult to the wound. How dare they? How dare they deprive her of this sole consolation? How dare the birds chirrup happily? How can the world go on?

People whisper behind her. Jaehaera ignores them as always. They wonder at her fate now that she is well and truly alone. They wonder what her cousin will do to her, for he must want retribution for his mother's death. Jaehaera wants to turn upon them and yell that her mother died too. She longs to tell them that if this Aegon wants her blood he is welcomed to it. He can hang her or have her head chopped off or even feed her to his dragon if it makes him feel better. She is a ghost anyway, the leftover of a bloody war. What does it matter if her head rolls or if her neck snaps or if she goes up in flames?

Septa Erayne wraps a cloak around her thin shoulder and pulls her away, muttering to herself about the poor, poor child as if Jaehaera cannot hear her perfectly well. But she goes along with it, hoping that in the end the Gods hear her plea and the ground will open up and swallow her whole, tucking her in the loving embrace of oblivion.


	5. v.

Little Aemon tugs on the sleeve of her dress as Jaehaera pins the last of her rebel tresses into place. She is exhausted from chasing him around the gardens. "What is it, little one?" she asks him, taking his tiny hand in hers. Children are such darling creatures, especially Aemon and the newborn Naerys.

"Rose," the young boy points to Jaehaera's rosebush, pulling on her sleeve again with his free hand. "Rose," he repeats. The insistence can only mean one thing. Jaehaera laughs. He wants a rose, does he? Aemon lets go of her sleeve and approaches the bush cautiously. He has undoubtedly pricked his finger before of the thorns. He glances at her pleadingly.

"Very well," Jaehaera give in after pretending to consider her task a moment. "A rose for my favourite knight." She smiles at him and kneels in front of the bush. She searches for a spot which has less thorns, one which she might grab and break the stem. Something promising catches her eye.

Carefully manoeuvring her hand, she catches a thin twig between her thumb and forefinger. Alack her mind deserts her for a moment and her grip slips. A hiss of pain makes its way to her lips. Jaehaera draws her hand away and glares at the barb that had cut her. She picks at the would, extracting the offending object with her nails. She throws it away. Aemon pouts, perhaps thinking he might not get his rose after all.

"Fear not, brave knight. I shan't leave you bereft of my favour." This time she makes sure to watch her hand. The rose is less stubborn on the second try. Jaehaera cleans the stem of the small spikes and fulfils her promise to Aemon.

The boy jumps with glee, running circles around her, promising to always defend her. Jaehaera takes him in her arms and kisses his cheek. Oh, how she wishes she had a child of her own. In time, she promises to herself. In time she will have sons and daughter of her own.

Down the path comes Viserys, his firstborn running behind him. Jaehaera stands to her feet. He is here to collect his children from around the Red Keep. Or mayhap he wishes to have word with her.

"Your Majesty," he greets her, bowing respectfully. Viserys is always mindful of appearances and of his duty. "Aemon, I see you are pestering your aunt again."

"Oh, he doesn't bother me," Jaehaera cuts in. She looks at little Aegon, hiding behind his father's legs. "Perhaps the boys would like to play at the lake."

Both children let out twin whoops of joy, so Jaehaera sends them of their way. Only she and Viserys remain. Jaehaera sits on the bench, inviting him to do the same.

"I heard about the child." About her unborn child, the one she bled out during the night, staining the sheets red. "Grieve, but don't be disheartened. There will be other children."

"There will be," she agrees with her, folding her hands in her lap primly. "There will be many children."

Viserys nods his head.


	6. iv.

Jaehaera hides under the blankets though she knows it does no good. She shivers in anticipation, caught somewhere between hope and dread. Her eyes are glued to the doors that separate her chambers from her husband's. A gust of wind comes through the window, disturbing the drapes. Jaehaera breathes out, her fingers clenched in the coverlet. She prays that he comes, but not now, later when she is asleep. It is so much easier when he doesn't stare at her with haunted eyes that are equal measure affection and denial.

A shadow creeps in the room. Jaehaera pulls the covers higher against her, sitting up to look at him. Aegon walks to her bed, nary a sound leaving his lips. This is his custom. He prefers silence to words. Jaehaera lifts a part of the blanket in invitation. He climbs next to her, cold hands resting on her warm waist. Aegon kisses the crown of her head and pulls her closer to him. Jaehaera leans against him, shifting until she's halfway in his lap. She doesn't mind the lack of words or the cold limbs that steal her warmth away.

Soon enough they are both warm and the laces of her nightwear give way for his fingers to splay on her naked back. Jaehaera trembles when his lips touch the column of her neck, teeth grazing along its length. She shudders out a moan when his weight settled atop of her and murmurs in contentment before he takes her lips in a sweet kiss. There are moments such as these, when they are wrapped one around the other, and nothing seems to matter outside the hot embrace melding them together.

He says something she can't catch, the words muffled by her collarbone and his fingers find the ribbon holding her hair in a tight tail. He takes that away too and wraps thick strands of hair around his hand as she comes apart underneath him. He tugs on the tresses gently once, twice, thrice before they flow down his palm like liquid silver and then he moves away, pulling Jaehaera with him.

There is barely any distance between them, skin rubs against skin, a testimony of the intimacy they share. Jaehaera never breaks eye contact when they are like this. She is not really sure why, but the look he gives her is a caress and she is hungry for this touch, for this assurance that she matters. Even if just for a brief moment, she wants to feel that she matters.

Her leg slides along his, thigh against hip. Her hands find his chest under the covers. Her eyes stare straight into his. She challenged him to leave. This is her challenge every night. But Aegon doesn't. He tucks her head under his chin and presses one hand to the small of her back until there is nothing between them, not even air. His chest moves in time with the breath he draws and the motion repeating itself over and over again lulls Jaehaera into sleep. She never hears the sigh that is her name escape her lips and never feel his last kiss.

She dreams.


End file.
